


Permeable

by fauxsemblants



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, a tiny bit of dub!con in one scene, if you're into that, slightly poetic in execution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxsemblants/pseuds/fauxsemblants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis share a flat. Harry can't seem to keep his clothes on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a fill for the kinkmeme about Harry and Louis sharing a flat and Harry's love of walking around naked (you can imagine what follows), but I realized in the middle of writing it that I wanted to change it up a bit. This chapter is heavy on description and less on dialogue, but that'll change in the succeeding sections. I'm sort of practicing different styles at this point so \m/
> 
> (also bless Emily's perfect little beta reading heart for basically writing the entire fic for me yes i love you (づ￣ ³￣)づ)

They had never fucked.

Heck, they hadn't even kissed.

But Harry would come over at odd hours, tapping at the door. If Louis didn't answer, too heavy on the mattress, he'd call his name, voice sullied with desperation:   
  
"Louis, open the door. Louis, please."  
  
And somehow it would reach him, and Louis would climb it to lightness again, shuffling sleepily towards the door to unlatch it for him. Harry would make some tea or coffee, Louis would fall back asleep just as quickly, and who knows what Harry did in the space of those hours in his apartment, body squeezed in between the awkwardly homed furniture.  
  
\------

Louis had absolutely no clue when his feelings for Harry turned from friendly appreciation to sexual attraction, but he hated it.

The brotherly relationship between the two was enough for him.  
There was no nightly aching for Harry's body pressed furiously onto his, no wishing for hands gripping thighs, bruised lips, or fingertips assaulting flesh. And definitely no flashing images of those swollen lips curled gently around his head.

Of course not.

But as much as Louis tried to convince himself otherwise, he wanted Harry more than anything else, and he  ~~wanted~~  needed to do something about it.

But what? Louis was becoming restless.

Once, during a particularly drunken night with the boys, Harry had nipped playfully on the skin of his neck, allowing his lips to hover on the mark afterwards. Louis wasn't quite sure how it had happened or how long it lasted, but it took all the self control he could muster to keep himself from bending Harry over and fucking him right then and there. He felt something like joy swell slow and then pulse erratic, and goodness, Louis wanted to stop his certain mouth. Stop it from wandering. He wanted Harry's curls wrapping gently around his fingers as he pressed delicate kisses along his jaw, neck, body. Louis placed his wrist in that space just below Harry's chest, seconds away from pulling him closer before he pushed him back gently.

Harry stood there in silence for a few moments, head hanging just as limply as his hair, before Louis began to question if he had _already_  screwed everything up. He placed a shaky finger under Harry's chin, lifting his head out of its slump. Louis ached to say a few words, but couldn't bring himself to. So, Harry withdrew his head from Louis' hand, and with a wry, distant smile rejoined the rest of the band laughing loudly on the opposite side of the bar.

Harry was intoxicating, he'd give him that, but unfortunately, every sip he stole was followed by a slow, stinging burn.

Minutes of shallow consideration and a few shots later, Louis decided that, for the sake of the friendship, it was better to dissolve whatever romantic feelings he had. As much as his body screamed " _Yes!_ " and as often as the heavy groans forced their way through his lips, Louis realized that sex had the potential of decimating whatever semblance of relationship they had, and he couldn't cope with it.

It was a learned skill. The task that once required an exhausting amount of concentration, had now become simple and even straightforward. But Louis could feel the grip on his mental and physical constraint slipping as Harry stood at his doorstep, time and time again, chest heaving lightly from his trip up the stairs, skin flushed a deep red, wisps of hair slipping from their messy positions, the delicate scent of too strong cologne and teenage boy hovering in the air.  
  
With Harry, he had to be wary of his speech, carefully avoiding any words or phrases that could be misconstrued or give him away, but his vision needed some work. Once, Harry had caught Louis' eyes stroking the protruding veins of his hands, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, and it took a scary amount of convincing for Harry to believe it was anything but sexual.

And so Louis' emotions remained unknown, only exposing themselves in bursts of awkward gestures and wanton stares.

\-----------

One Direction had been on a hiatus for close to three weeks, as Niall and Liam suffered an overwhelming bout of homesickness. The time the band would have spent singing, practicing and partaking in slightly homoerotic acts was unexpectedly replaced with solitude and a hint of loneliness.  Liam, Zayn, and Niall, of course, all traveled back to their respective neighborhoods to spend a few moments with their families, while Louis and Harry remained in London, close but not close enough. There was an undeniable void that Harry, grossly uninspired, tried to fill with Louis.   
  
Eventually, Louis, frustrated by the constant disturbance at night, handed Harry a newly cut pair of keys for the flat with an "It's about time, don't you think?" Harry's fingers grazed the jagged edges of the cool metal, smiling inwardly, before slipping his keys into the pocket of his jacket.  
  
"Just don't forget you brought this upon yourself."  
  
After bonding during their stint on X-Factor and later in One Direction, Louis actually quite enjoyed having Harry around, except for the times when he didn't.  
  
This was one of them.  
  
Louis had known that Harry had a strong aversion to wearing clothing, but it always manifested itself in a missing shirt or at the most extreme, a lack of pants. Liam, cool-headed and mature, used to brush it off as a simple reaction to the heat (even when there was none), but from viewing the way the blood rushed to his cheeks and through the subtle amusement of his features, Louis determined it must have been his vanity at work.

He wasn't far from the truth. Harry liked being nude. He enjoyed the burden of attention.  He wanted people to look at him. Eyes replaced hands, in this instance, wrapping relentlessly, shamelessly around his delicately chiseled form, dispersing the heat from his face though the rest of his body, making his cock swell furiously and uncontrollably. The initial timidity that came with being completely vulnerable to a set of people (and of course, the boner that succeeded) dissipated over time. In actuality, he could never quite explain it, so he hoped the looks he threw at Louis illustrated exactly what he was feeling.

It made him feel good, plain and simple.

But both never expected Harry to bring the kink home. Within the first week of their living together, Harry developed a tendency to saunter around the house stark naked, despite Louis' half-assed protests. Louis understood he didn't think the situation through,  and it was basically his whole damn fault that Harry's ass was exposed 24/7, but something had to be done about this setback.   
  
Louis considered his options, and short of going to Harry and telling him that the clothes actually go  _on_  his body—not going to happen—or suffering in a perpetual state of sexual frustration—counterproductive—Louis figures he’s got one choice: to get over it. He resorted to distancing himself completely, as in the "oh-you're-over-but-wait-something-suddenly-came-up-that-i-have-to-handle-outside-for-the-rest-of-the-night-and-as-long-as-it-takes-you-to-leave" kind of distancing, leaving Harry confused and just a bit insulted.

-

Louis clearly didn't consider the whole 'distance makes the heart grow fonder' issue, and within a few days, he found himself back at the flat, searching for any indication of Harry's presence.

Within the first few seconds of his entering, Louis caught sight of the remnants of a cooking disaster decorating his counter-top. He fought back a fierce grin, as he imagined Harry, eyebrows creased in frustration, a string of curses escaping his mouth as he dumped a failed recipe into the trash.

Harry had been here all right and messier than ever, but how long ago he wasn't certain.

He was about to call it a night, before the door to his bedroom, swinging lightly on its hinges, caught his immediate attention. As quietly as possible, Louis pushed it open a bit more, letting the dim light of the kitchen illuminate the darkness.

He heard the tired groan of the figure before he saw it shift. Louis watched it breathe deep, dark nipples riding with the swell.

He tried. He really tried.

But seeing Harry curled up beneath his covers, face distorted humorously against the pillow, undid him completely.

Louis' crooked smile gave way to a laugh. He laughed at how ridiculous this entire situation was. He laughed at his emotions. Laughed at the stupid boy resting in his bed, and at how badly he wanted to wrap his arms around his waist and nest in his thick mop of hair.

And so he did.

Louis crawled in feverishly warm beside him, rubbing one hand into the oven warm space of his hair and neck. He pressed his body firm against the erratic beatings of Harry's heart, hidden well under stretched flesh, calmed finally by the movement of his breath.

In the darkness, Louis could only barely make out the change in Harry's features - the corners of his sleep stained mouth turned up into a smile, engaging, alluring yet a bit hesitant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dub!con elements sort of (just to be safe)
> 
> Smut is coming in the next chapter, no worries. I'm trying to make Harry getting fucked sound like something you'd find in an anthology of romantic poetry (it's hard).
> 
> Thanks again to Em for her continued support and willingness to correct my silly mistakes :*

Now, this day isn't particularly special for any one reason. The sun still beams obnoxiously bright through the un-curtained windows, forcing Louis to pull the covers as far over his head as possible. If he can avoid another day cooking for a party of one and watching bad telly alone, he will. Surprisingly, it's the sound of a kettle reaching its peak (along with a grumbling tummy) that wakes him fully. Louis reluctantly swings his legs over the side of the couch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and with a heave, brings himself up onto two feet. 

Louis slept horribly, if the soreness in his neck is any indication. After staring intently at a sleeping Harry and drifting in and out of consciousness the night before, Louis decided to retire to the couch. The pain, he figures, is a minor issue compared to the  awkward conversation that Harry would start as to why exactly Louis was tucked so closely beside his body.

Louis allows himself a moment of frustration, but the matter becomes absolutely trivial as he steps into the kitchen.  
  
Fresh from Michelangelo's studio stands his David, fully nude and hovering over the stove and mumbling to himself about burning croissants or something to that extent. Harry makes a series of uncertain motions but settles finally into a stoic position, arms crossed. Due in part to the angle of sunlight, Louis eyes are drawn to the defined, rolling muscles of Harry's bare back, sharp-seeming, small-as-fish bones moving under all of that strange silence and flesh.  
  
He feels his body tighten as a familiar but unwanted stream of heat rushes to greet him.  
  
"It's not that creepy doesn't turn me on or anything, but don't you have something better to do than stare at me while I'm cooking?" Harry chides, never bothering to glimpse at the thoroughly wrecked Louis, who now shifts impatiently from foot to foot. "I can feel you looking at me."

Louis doesn't respond, and Harry turns to check if he was even there in the first place. With a slow turn of the head, he throws Louis a glance of pure amusement. Harry could have laughed. Louis looks like a child needing to be held: the lengthy sleeves of a wrinkled navy shirt hang loosely over his knuckles, his hair is a disheveled mess from a night of movement, and a small yawn escapes his mouth. Harry's certain that Louis is only half conscious as he stabilizes himself with a palm pressed lazily against one of the flat's columns. He's almost tempted to shoo him back to sleep with a slap on the bum and a chuckle.

"I thought you would have left already." Louis slurs, sleep still heavy on his tongue. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

“Cooking," Harry replies, shrugging, "Waiting for you to wake up."

Louis cringes, cursing inwardly at himself for his rudeness. Harry offers a simple smile.

"Er - sorry. I don't suppose I'm much of a morning person."

For as long as Harry could recall, Louis had always been a man of emotional restraint, so he isn't necessarily surprised at Louis' guarded disposition. However, there definitely is something odd about his attitude this morning - it seems forced somehow.

It isn't until Louis' head tilts sleepily to meet the column that Harry notices the contours of his veins standing boldly against the plain of his neck, the impression his teeth make on his lower lip, and the way his tongue emerges to graze it. Louis looks absolutely debauched, and Harry doesn't think he has a clue.

Harry always suspected Louis felt something towards him - a longing that surpassed friendship -but no matter the amount of effort Harry put into breaking Louis from his shell, no matter how many kisses or "friendly" hugs were shared, Louis wouldn't give. Though he just might, this time. Hoping he doesn't look as foolish as he feels, Harry takes two small steps toward Louis' body, smiling wickedly all the while.

"If you committed homicide and I found you out, you could hardly look more shocked." Harry notes playfully, as Louis' snaps back to reality. He laughs quietly as Louis steps cautiously backwards. "Are you feeling well, Louis?"

"Don't you have groceries to put away or something?" Louis mumbles.

Harry's cock is well on its way to hard, and Louis really,  _really_ needs Harry to move a few paces back, so he can regain the composure he wasn't aware he lost. What Louis _is_  aware of is Harry's less than innocent intentions and his own slow undoing as Harry coos his name. He can feel his body betraying him as the voice in his mind that had been telling him ' _Don't!_ ' all this time slowly begins to dissipate, though its echo remains to keep him in a state of constant nervousness.

In a moment of pure spontaneity, Harry extends a hand to lightly stroke the skin of Louis' neck, which causes Louis to tense up then shiver. They stand in silence for a moment, the pressure of their bodies' unfulfilled aspirations overbearing but intoxicating all the while.

Louis' breathing is stilted and rigid, his lungs on the brink of collapse, as Harry's lips hover unnaturally close to his, settling comfortably into a wicked grin.

"A deep breath would do you well."

Louis knows that he could stop Harry. He has all the power to keep Harry from moving any closer, and eventually, he'd have the power to stop Harry's mouth from sucking, to stop his tongue like so many small spears cutting in and out. But it was becoming increasingly difficult for Louis' to shy away from his embraces.

"Well then," Harry whispers abruptly onto Louis' mouth, smile still plastered on his face, "there's not much left to do here, I suppose. If you wouldn't mind straightening the kitchen while I see myself out..."

"Try not to look so desperately miserable about it." Louis replies, snarkiness overshadowing his apparent hesitancy.

With such an abrupt shift in Louis' character, Harry laughs. He understands that somewhere in all of this, Louis had snapped and that he had been responsible. Entangling his arms around Louis' waist like a thirsty vine, Harry revels in his success.

"If you'd like to shag, I'd feel far more comfortable with you saying it outright than trying to hide behind snappy remarks."

"Harry, let's not pretend my annoyance is unwarranted."

Harry's response is muffled as he presses his lips tenderly to the crevice of Louis' collarbone, arms pulling him in tighter than ever, impressing on him Harry's physical reality.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

Louis' hands wander down the plane of Harry’s back and pause at the base of Harry's spine.

"I wish you told me earlier." Louis mentions.   
  
"Told you what?"  
  
Louis slides his hands lower, spreading his fingers wide over Harry’s ass and pressing lightly with his fingertips. And Christ, Louis is convinced that there’s nothing more beautiful than the noises Harry’s making right now. Louis savors the moment all the more for its intense, brilliant rarity.

“That you wanted this. I've been waiting years just to –” Louis starts – the rest of his sentence lost to inarticulate whimpers as Harry arches his back, pressing his ass into Louis’ hands.

“Fuck me?” Harry says, breathing heavily. Harry hears Louis make a slightly strangled noise, then Louis' hands are clutching those curls and he’s being kissed— insistently, fervently.

Louis has always enjoyed the intimacy of kissing, especially with Harry — the desperate interactions of tongues and lips and teeth seeking to make up for all that lost time. Harry clearly does too, because he readily opens his mouth when Louis deepens the kiss. 

Louis pulls back, slightly breathless, and drops chaste kisses onto various parts of Harry's body: under his adam’s apple, behind his ear, on his temple. As he does so, Harry presses his prick against Louis’ groin — Louis’ pants doing little to restrain his erection.

“Jesus...” Louis moans into Harry’s mouth, before being carted off to the bedroom.

\---

Louis stands in the doorway, watching as Harry searches the room for god knows what. He smiles smugly at the sight of Harry’s erection bobbing up against his stomach; Louis has barely touched him, and he’s already achingly hard.

Harry locates his pants under the bed covers and empties the contents of its pockets, a condom and a few packets of lube, onto the bed.

“Overconfident?” Louis comments, raising an eyebrow.

“Optimistic.”

Harry smiles and winks, tossing the condom to Louis. Holding the condom in his mouth, Louis makes quick work of stripping down and putting it on.

"Stand right there, and do not move."  Harry commands, shifting his body closer towards the headboard. But before Louis has a chance to protest, Harry puts himself on display, spreading his legs wantonly.

And Louis can’t – no – _refuses_ to believe that Harry is actually here and tangible and not a fleeting form in his dreams. Despite Harry’s demand, he finds himself taking a few steps forward.   
  
“Louis!”

Harry lies there, flushed, hard, and fully exposed with that stupid pout on his face, and Louis feels a surge of affection followed by a deep arousal.  

Harry coats the first two fingers of his right hand, and reaches down between his legs, rubbing his entrance briefly before slipping in his forefinger up to the first joint.

Moaning at the familiar stretch and burn, Harry takes time to finger himself slowly, stretching his hole, until he feels himself relaxing. He slides his finger in just far enough to press against his prostate, and his cock jerks enthusiastically against his stomach. He lets his eyes flutter shut. _Christ, that feels good._

Louis stands back, wholly overwhelmed by how tight Harry looks. Deprived of claiming what should be his, Louis palms his cock, keeping his touch light and breathing slowly to center himself and maintain some semblance of control.

Harry adds another finger, making sure to stretch himself as unashamedly and obscenely as possible, for Louis’ sake, of course. He snaps his eyes open to find Louis, staring, cock in hand, his breathing labored. The sensations being wrung from Harry’s body are intense, but there’s something insanely hot about being watched so closely; Louis’ attention is rapt and unwavering, possessing a new heat that Harry had never seen. He swears he could come from this alone.

Then Louis' eyes flick up slightly to meet his, and the sound Harry makes can only be described as keening.  A few strokes later, Harry withdraws his hands completely and arches an eyebrow at Louis.

And Louis, dazed out of his mind, lets himself be drawn in by Harry, climbing onto the bed and placing himself in between his legs. He mouths at the underside of Harry’s cock, drawing the prettiest moan from him.

"Perfect” Louis comments softly, running his tongue up Harry’s shaft.

He laps up the drops of pre-come on Harry’s stomach, and Harry groans, his hands coming up to card gently through Louis’ hair. Louis quite likes that sensation.  He’s struck briefly with the image of him taking Harry into his mouth, while Harry tugs at his hair, canting his hips. Not now, though; in this state, Harry’s too sensitive. Louis moans softly and drives the image away with a savage effort of will.

With a single finger under Louis' chin, Harry draws Louis up until they're eye to eye.   
  
“I want you to fuck me. Will you do that?” Harry asks, and Louis sucks in a sharp breath, grinding down onto Harry, sliding their cocks together. They both moan at that sensation, strong enough of a distraction that Louis forgets to answer.

“Will you?”

“God, yes.”

Grabbing a packet of lube from the bed, Louis tears it open and empties it onto his hand, slicking his own cock. He lets its head graze Harry’s perineum, before guiding it to Harry's entrance, lining the tip with precision and slowly and smoothly pushing in until he reaches the hilt.

“Louis. I – ha.” Harry calls out, brows creasing slightly.

Louis pauses briefly, closes his eyes, and lets out a long sigh. Harry is tight. Really fucking tight. Louis leans over to rest his forehead against Harry’s, savoring the wet heat engulfing his prick. It’s not until Harry mutters a slightly annoyed “ _Move_ ” that Louis is reminded that he’s meant to be fucking him as well.

Louis thrusts slowly, at first, giving Harry plenty of time to grow accustomed to the pressure, and making sure he doesn’t peak too soon, then gradually increases the pace. Harry starts to grind his hips up to match Louis' thrusts, staring him in the eyes unapologetically, wholly eager for this. The sight nearly sends Louis over the edge, and judging from Harry’s constant stream of expletives, Harry was also feeling the experience rather intensely. Louis quickly discovers that he loves the sounds Harry makes, lost and incoherent, as Louis is buried deep inside of him.

Harry groans, dragging Louis down by the shoulders, and kisses him hard, pulling at Louis’ bottom lip with his teeth. He reaches down between their bodies to stroke his cock, teasing the head and capturing a bit of pre-come on his fingers. His fingers ghost back up Lou’s body, and he swipes a bit onto Louis’ mouth, smiling wickedly.

And Louis absolutely loses it.  Harry digs his fingers into Louis’ back, as Louis snaps his hips and fucks him relentlessly.

Harry is suddenly hyper aware of Louis: the furious beating of his heart, beads of sweat running quickly down his collarbones  - perfect in their pathways - and that strong face etched with pleasure.   
  
He’s so entranced by Louis that his approaching orgasm catches him by surprise.

"Shit, I'm gonna --"  
  
Louis hisses.  
  
"Fuck, Harry. Let me see you."  
  
Harry watches Louis as long as he can bear it, but it's too much —those hands, that mouth, that cock all focused on him with a single, devastating purpose. Harry closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, euphoria staining his expression. He comes, just like that, Louis' name spiraling from his tongue.

All of those nights spent alone wanking to the thought of making Harry come didn’t prepare him for the real thing. He could have fucked Harry for the rest of the night, and for the rest of his life, for that matter, but Harry wastes no time in sliding Louis’ out of him, and shoving him back-first onto the mattress.   
  
Harry hovers closely over him, now, still fighting his breathing back under control. Harry slides his hand down Louis' body, but their eyes never lose contact,  blown wide and electric.

Harry's fingers encircle Louis’ shaft, and he feels Louis shiver underneath him. Harry divides his attention somewhat, so that he can work his hand over Louis in short, rapid strokes while he sucks marks into Louis’ neck. Louis is particularly incoherent – murmuring Harry’s name and variations of “oh fuck, do that again” – with the exception of one “I think I love you” accompanied by a completely spent smile.

Harry laughs softly, and sweeps his thumb over Louis’ slit, and Louis lets out a noise that’s positively obscene, face wiped clean of its grin.

Louis runs his hands through Harry's hair, just stroking, not pulling; not wanting to abuse the privilege. With a particularly rough flick of Harry’s wrist, Louis jerks up into Harry’s hand, feeling his orgasm building with a tight and steady hum. Louis’ hands fall from the head of curls to grab at fistfuls of the bedding, knuckles turning white from the force.  

Harry leans down and nips at Louis’ neck, ghosting kisses up his to ear.

“I want you to watch me take you apart.”

Louis breath comes rapidly, and Harry's mouth hovers over his, panting in equal measure. With a few quick strokes, Louis comes loudly, feeling his muscles tense then go loose and pliable with release.

Harry looks far too smug as he presses a chaste kiss to Louis' mouth before falling backwards on the mattress, staring at the ceiling.   
  
A chronic worrier, Louis’ mind is particularly quiet right now. He sits up, staring fondly at a fucked out Harry smiling blissfully up at him. Louis allows Harry to pull him down into his chest.

They share a few moments of intimate silence, until Louis starts to drift off. The rumble of Harry's voice rouses him.  
  
"I had a dream like this once, you know," Harry whispers into Louis’ hair, "I topped."

“Not a chance.” Louis notes, sleepily. Harry chuckles softly, letting his eyes close.  
  
“We’ll see.”  
  
Louis looks up at Harry, his features soft in near-sleep, and imagines new possibilities of intimacy between them. Mind at peace, Louis lets pleasant thoughts of the future and Harry's steady breathing lull him to sleep.


End file.
